


Send her down, Hughie

by Youngsoul



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Explicit Language, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27147425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youngsoul/pseuds/Youngsoul
Summary: Hughie's life is finally back on track. Until it isn't.The boys band together once more to find what kind of crap Vought is planning this time with Hughie gone missing, leaving behind only cryptic messages.--Post-Season 2
Relationships: Billy Butcher & Hughie Campbell
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	1. The Whiskey Ain't Workin'

**Author's Note:**

> This is just to satisfy myself now that The Boys won't be back again for a while.

Mrs. Jones was an elderly lady (in her 70’s, Hughie guessed) with a bad hip and a few extra pounds around her middle. She was not a particularly cheerful woman, but had surprisingly a lot to talk about when it came to her cats, Bruno and Mona (named after her trip to Paris over thirty years ago with her late husband when she saw the painting, she explained). For Hughie, she was just so normal after all the crazy sorts of folks he had been around all year that she just made him feel really good inside. Just a normal human, perhaps a little lonely, but with no ulterior motives or a bad attitude. She slowly made up the stairs to the second floor, one foot at a time, leaning onto her walking stick. Hughie waited patiently as the woman reached the top and stopped to wait as she caught her breath. She went to the second door on her left, number 3, and quickly worked to open the door.

“Here we are,” she said and walked in the empty apartment. “The mechanic came ‘round last Tuesday – fixed the shower and the kitchen sink. Should work fine now,” she explained, walking to the big window on the other side of the room. Hughie walked in the apartment, a smile plastered on his face.

“- The girl who lived here said the windows were a little breezy, which explains the tape in the corners. ‘fraid we can’t do much about that, but I hope you can manage,” she continued. She held out the keys for him, which Hughie took. The corner of her mouth twitched up when she saw the silly smile on Hughie’s face. She cocked her head towards the kitchen, “the papers are on the table – just sign them and drop them in my mailbox when you’re done. Leave a copy for yourself. I live in number 6 – end of the floor.”

Hughie nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”

She gave a nod, looked Hughie up and down and gave that queer smile again. “You just let me know if you need somethin’, alright?”

Hughie smiled at her – the lady was a kind soul despite her outwards appearance. “I will, thank you.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving Hughie in the quiet room. He just looked around – feeling overwhelmingly victorious. Finally – he had his own place! It wasn’t anything special – it was quite tiny, but still fit a small, separate bedroom, just wide enough to squeeze in a queen-sized mattress if he could live without a nightstand, Hughie guessed. There was a doorway to the bedroom and the kitchen, but neither had an actual door in place, making the space a lot more functional. The kitchen was very small, and could not fit a table, but Hughie already had an idea to place a table underneath the large window in the living room. The view was nothing interesting, being towards the courtyard with other apartment buildings on all sides, but if he leaned far enough, he was able to see some of the high-rise buildings on the other side. The room had definitely aged from its best days, with some edges of wallpaper drooping at the top, the color changing in parts where furniture had been placed, the sun damage having done its job. The floor was no better, looking a little worn and scratched. The sink in the bathroom had a small crack in one corner, and the cabinets had taken some damage from the moisture. But for Hughie – it was better than good. It felt perfect, weirdly.

It was his _own_. Well – not exactly, since he was just renting, but still! He was finally, truly, standing on his own two feet, not having to bunk in some underground drug cave with rats and dirt and… he shuddered at the thought. He sat on the floor, cross-legged, just breathing in the relative silence, the window filtering out most of the sounds from the city.

He was _free_.

\---

His first and second paycheck went into his first rent and the deposit (which Mrs. Jones had graciously split into two smaller payments after meeting with Hughie. Annie told that it was just his demeanor that made people trust him like that).

His new job was pretty awesome. Obviously, he was a little out of his depth with the whole campaigning thing, but the people there were really helpful in easing him to the job. Victoria had been especially nice to him – and despite her being extremely busy with her campaign, she has always seemed to find time for a quick chit-chat with Hughie in the coffee-room or in passing. She was such a cool person and Hughie was very glad that he could work to help her. Having an ally like her in the congress is and would be a huge help when they would take their next step towards bringing down Vought. Helping her in any way, legally, now – of course – was such a wonderful relief for Hughie’s nerves, which had been so highly strung since it all had begun (Jesus, how long had it been since his world had come crashing down?). Finally, he could go back to just being Hughie. Not this … vigilante who had no idea what he was doing half the time and fearing for his life every second.

But it wasn’t like he had forgotten. He spilled his almost empty cup of coffee over himself once – the warm, almost hot liquid splashing against him – his shirt, his arms – and suddenly, he was there again – his hand on the detonator, guts, blood and bone splattered all over him.

_Killer, killer, killer._

He had properly freaked out, jumped out of his seat, screamed bloody murder. Thankfully, his behavior was somehow explainable with hot coffee being splashed on him, his co-workers thinking he had burned himself.

It was far from the first and last time he would get those flashes, but he dealt with them, somehow.

Seeing Annie helped. And he kept in contact with M.M and Frenchie (Kimiko was always mentioned in his texts as they stuck together). It helped him. To know that it hadn’t been a really fucked-up dream – that he had really experienced it all. That it meant something. His days in the clean office could make the past year seem too distant sometimes.

The only one who he hadn’t heard from was Butcher. It was no surprise, to be honest. He knew that the man would want to do his own thing for a while. Fuck. How did it all go to shit so badly? Why did Butcher have to lose Becca like that? How the fuck would Hughie know what to say to the guy after something like that?

So, he hadn’t said much – had called him and told him that he was going to do his own thing for a while. “-- _you know you can like, call me, or whatever, anytime. Even uh – if it’s like nothing related to Vought or anything,_ ” Hughie had told him, awkwardly, and had received a very Butcher-like reply, which would have sounded like a pure insult if they didn’t know the man. For Hughie, it sounded distantly like a shadow of _a thanks_ , with a sprinkle of _fuck off_. It was good enough.

That was months ago.

Hughie found himself staring at a piece running on the muted tv in the corner of the office featuring the newly returned A-train and the rest of the team, trying to highlight how well they were doing despite all the shit that had been happening. His eyes always drifted towards Annie – the suit, the hair and makeup covering her displeasure for most of her audience. Hughie could always tell the truth from her eyes, though.

“Hey, Hughie,” a female voice called, snapping her fingers in front of him, snapping his out of his daydream. It was his co-worker Kayla.

“Yeah, sorry,” he blinked.

“You ready?” she asked, her brow raised skeptically.

He nodded, “yeah, yeah – just gimme a second-“ he said, quickly going over all the paperwork he wanted to grab with him.

They went to the car, Kayla sitting in the driver’s seat as per usual. She explained everything like usual – not quite trusting Hughie to handle his job yet. He didn’t mind, really, as she didn’t do it out of spite or anything – she was just very serious about her job. She was a nice person, really – but while working, it was all business with her.

“You got the paperwork ready, right? The renewed contract we managed to broker should help get the RKF votes. We just need them to sign it and deliver it by the end of the day to make sure there are no fears of re-negotiations. Got that?”

“Yeah – I got it,” Hughie assured, trying to hide how nervous he felt.

Just pieces of paper – but they could sway a really important election and change the future for the country. Funny how something like this could make him feel so jittery when just a couple of months back he had sawn off the hand of a sort-of ally as he had turned badly burned corpse right in front of his eyes without much hesitation.

His life was so fucking messed up.

\---

It was a long day, but he had once again been pretty stunned at how well Victoria was able to convince the right people to work with her. She was so good with words and her confidence was able to reassure even the most hesitant people, like the worker’s association they met with today.

Now, it was Friday and Hughie could take a well-deserved rest for the weekend. Although he would have loved to just kick back and relax, he had furniture shopping to do, as much as he enjoyed his sleeping back on the hard floor. M.M also said that he might be swinging by, although Hughie suspected that he just wanted to lend a hand with the furniture (the man was too nice for his own good). Annie had a Vought thing – but said that she would let him know if she could get any time off to meet up.

Deciding to just take some time for himself that evening, Hughie went to buy himself some beer and food from the store. He was about to head back with his shopping bags when he decided to swing by the liquor store as well – maybe grab something for M.M as a thanks, or maybe some wine if Annie came by… he should really buy the bed first thing tomorrow, right?

He’d just grabbed a random bottle of wine (he really had no idea what he was looking for) and was headed to the counter when something caught his eye. Whiskey. It was the same stuff he’d seen Butcher drink all the time. It was an impulse, more than anything, but the bottle found itself joining the wine on the counter as he paid.

He didn’t even drink whiskey, something he remembered once again as he sat on the floor of his dark apartment, drinking the stuff from his McDonald’s cup from the night before as only the kitchen light and the city lights lit the place. The bottle stood innocently across from him, the silence oddly unsettling.

“Man, must be going crazy,” he told to no one, stood, grabbed the bottle, and headed to the kitchen, emptying the rest of his cup in the sink. A ghost of a voice spoke in his head in an English accent: _“Fucking wasteful..”_ and Hughie laughed at himself. He placed the bottle on the counter, deciding to leave it there until someone with a more “refined” taste would come around.

\---

It was a little later that evening when he suddenly remembered that he’d left his laptop charger back at the office. He really wanted to watch the newest episode of his favorite show and despite trying to convince himself that his phone screen was enough – he gave up and just convinced himself that it was a much-needed evening walk back to the office (with a mix of public transport) to grab the charger.

The office was empty, of course, and he found what he was looking for very quickly. He was just about to leave when he noticed the light coming from Victoria’s office. Was she still working? He decided to pop in and say hi but noticed through the crack of her door that she wasn’t in her office. He made sure, popping his head in, and looking around to make sure. He was just about to switch off the light and leave when he heard someone speaking. She had another door in her room, leading to the hallway and feeling curious, Hughie decided to check it out. The hallway was dark, but a light from the bathroom gave enough light for him to see his way. A room was open, one of the meeting rooms – and Hughie could tell it was Victoria there. He was just about to walk over, but slowed his steps when he heard another voice, much less calm than hers.

“I didn’t sign up for this! You can’t do something like this-!” the man told, his voice sounding frightened. “If they knew-!”

“-and how would they find out, huh? Because I think that you’re the only one who knows,” Victoria said, calmly.

There was something odd about the whole situation, but Hughie found himself being too curious to let it go. It was the campaign office after all, and he had every right to be there. Surely there wasn’t any secrets that he couldn’t know..? So, he peeked in through the small window by the door, making sure they wouldn’t see him, the action somehow reminiscent of his days as a vigilante, having to do crazy stuff like spying.

“I’ll tell them – I’ll tell them everything, Neuman. You’re done!” he threatened.

She sighed. “No, I don’t think so.”

Hughie didn’t know what the fuck happened next.

There was this sound – a sickening crunch and a wet splat, but then his vision went dark red as the glass window in front of him was sprayed with blood and whatever else. How he stayed quiet, he didn’t fucking know. But his instincts screamed him to run away as fast as he fucking could – and that’s what he did.

He wasn’t a fucking idiot- he backed away quietly, of course, at first. Never had he found the carpeted floors in the hallway a bigger blessing than now. His heart was beating so fast and loud that he was sure she would hear him. And fuck – it really was her, wasn’t it? She was a Supe! He didn’t have the capacity to think about all that it meant, because he needed to get the fuck away from there.

He heard her talking again. “Yeah, it’s me. I need a cleanup crew in the office,” she told, and Hughie felt a little relieved that she was occupied. “Things got a little messy,” she explained, but that was the last thing he heard. He was out the door and running in full speed. Where? Anywhere.

Fuck, just – fuck!

He didn’t want to stay in the open, so he went to the subway, took a couple of stations in the wrong direction, then another train to go towards his home, wondering if even that was safe anymore.

_You’re okay, you didn’t tell your address to anyone yet – you should be okay. Right?_

Hughie stood a block from his building, stopping suddenly. He had this horrible feeling that this was happening again – things were about to go to shit. And he was alone in it. And he knew just what he needed to do, but fuck-fuck-fuck-! He was fucking scared out of his goddamn mind.

He might not have a lot of time. If she found him, there was a good chance he would blow into bits in the middle of his sentence – or thought. That alone made him look around the dark, empty streets and hide in an alley.

He took out his phone and somehow, there was only one number he automatically reached out to find. Why – when he promised that he would try to find a way to stop clinging… No, now was not the time, he told himself.

He called and waited until the voicemail – as expected.

“Butcher? Hi, uh- it’s Hughie. Listen-“ he had to catch his breath suddenly, his body still in a state of panic. You could definitely hear it too, but he didn’t fucking care. “-so that Supe that probably killed Raynor and Vogelbaum and the others – I know who it is,” he hated how matter-of-fact he sounded when his legs were shaking almost as bad as his hands. “I don’t know if I was seen but fuck,” he had to take a couple of breaths again. “Butcher – I need your help. I gotta – If she fucking saw me- fuck, fuck, fuck-“ the panic rose in him again, flashes of Raynor’s head getting exploded right in front of him playing over and over in his head. “She’s working with someone – I don’t know who, but this is bad – really bad. I can’t stay here.” With that, Hughie ended the call and stared at his phone.

He sent out another text, then one more, and hesitated before sending the third one. Then, he struggled with opening his phone to remove his sim card, breaking it. He did the same for his phone next, not daring to leave any trace of himself behind, dumping it in the garbage for good measure.

\---

He gets the message two days after it has reached his phone.

To his credit, he _did_ see it. But he was wasted by that time in the night and he had little interest in hearing some whiny sob story, or deal with Hughie asking him how he was doing, or whatever. The following day there was a hungover at some shitty hotel, room service that involved a flustered woman bringing the food in as he was fully naked (firstly, sleeping with clothes on wasn’t his style – so fuck her – and secondly, he and the boys had gotten a little financial aid for their efforts, so why not spend it like this?). It was Frenchie who called him next, but he didn’t answer again. He would have maybe listened to his message, had he left one.

It was the text from M.M the next day as he was driving back (or to – wherever, he had nowhere to be), that made him finally stop and listen to Hughie’s message.

[ _M.M: Where the fuck are you?_ ]

He pulled over, not giving a shit about the honking car behind him and pulled out Hughie’s message, playing it on speaker. He couldn’t deny whatever feeling made his insides freeze when he heard the absolute fucking panic in his voice.

“Fucking ‘ell…” He called Hughie, but as he expected, the phone was disabled. Smart kid – nothing to worry about yet, he told himself. If he pulled back on the road a little too fast and sped over the speed limits, there was no one around to comment on it. He called M.M next.

It only took a couple of rings before the man answered. _“What the fuck have you been doing?”_

“Well ‘’ello’ to you too,” he greeted, one hand on the steering wheel as he passed a car (slow cunt, he deemed). “I take it things at home ‘aven’t been the same – could ‘ave called a nanny.”

_“Fuck you, Butcher. We’re in deep shit here – get your ass back here. I’ll send you the address.”_

He waited for anything else, but M.M didn’t continue. “Where’s Hughie?”

The couple of seconds of silence told enough about the level of absolute shit they were in.

 _“We don’t know. He’s just gone. Fuck – if he’s fucking dead…”_ M.M let the sentence hang. Butcher pushed his car to go faster, not giving a fuck about his own safety. He went through his arsenal of weapons he had stored in his head, counting the bullets to calm himself down, imagining himself lodging those fuckers in some Supe’s brain.

“And the Supe?”

_“Just get here. We’ll talk then.”_


	2. Keeping the Faith

It was not much better than the basement under the pawn shop with the Haitian Kings. It was a large storage unit, forgotten by seemingly everyone and time itself – reeking of shady business. Frenchie’s doing, no doubt, Butcher knew when he came in and shut the metal door behind him.

The usual gang was there – Frenchie at the desk, going through his computer with loud music blasting as M.M seemed to have his hands full with some documents by the couch. Kimiko was never far off, but Butcher couldn’t see her around the unit. The two men looked up when they heard him come in.

“Hello, hello, boys.”

The wild eyes finding him warned Butcher about how wound up the guys were. They spoke over each other as they stomped over to him: “What took you so long-“ “- _Mon ami où étais-tu putain-_ “.

Butcher waved them off and walked past them. “I was fucking busy – alright? Now, where are we on Hughie and the Head-Popping cunt?”

Frenchie ran over to his computer, where Butcher joined him.

“ _Petit_ Hughie ‘as been working with the congrez-lady for a couple of months. I tried to see what ‘e was doing, but with le securitay program I installed for ‘is phone, even I can’t trace it back – it’s all gone!” he explained, clearly frustrated.

M.M walked over to them. “He sent Frenchie a message right before going off the grid that he saw who killed Rayner and that he might be in danger,” he explained, his voice calm but controlled. He shook his head as he kept on going, “we ain’t heard about him since.”

Frenchie and M.M both looked at Butcher with that same look – asking for some magical words to bring Hughie back all in one piece. He didn’t have any to offer – the world being a shitty place and all.

“Alright – anything else we’ve got? Security cams, CCTV? ‘ave you checked out his apartment? What about the last hideout?” Butcher questioned.

“We don’t know where ‘e lives – we couldn’t follow ‘im through le cameras,” Frenchie explained. Then, there was a small smirk on his face as he punched Butcher’s arm lightly. “We trained ‘im well, _mon ami_ ,” he reminded Butcher.

“That’s right,” M.M agreed, taking a step closer, making eye-contact with Butcher. “-he’s a smart kid and we prepared him for this kind of possibility. I mean – he’s still fighting our fight, even though it was from the right side of the law this time. It don’ mean that he was any safer than before. He knew what he was getting into – and there’s a good chance he’s still up and kicking somewhere.”

“Yeah?” Butcher asked, but it was antagonizing as usual. “-or: he’s lying in some ditch – or better yet, buried in the fucking desert on the other side of the country without his fucking head on his shoulders because you lot couldn’t keep tabs on ‘im, could ya?” Were it anyone else but his friends he was talking to, they would have felt pretty intimidated by then. But it was a no-bullshit policy that was apparently still being practiced as M.M only took a step closer into Butcher’s personal space and pointed a finger at him.

“ _You_ were the one who fucking left, Butcher. That kid’s been fighting there all by himself since you were gone – and we fucking _got it_ , okay? It’s fucking heartbreaking what happened with Becca so we all understood you taking off and probably emptying all the bars in your way -“ An emotion flashed in Butcher’s eyes at the mention of his late wife, but M.M kept going, “-but he’s been fighting the fight _you_ started, alright? So don’t go around blaming us for this – because if anyone, it’s _you_ who should’ve been keeping tabs, man.”

That really struck a chord. Butcher actually looked _hurt_ for a second, and he deflated for a second, his eyes finding the table. Hughie would always seem to be his weak spot, now, it seemed.

“Look, man,” M.M tried, more softly now as if to apologize, “we’ve all been doing our own shit for the past few months. We just gotta work together a find the kid, alright? And find out who this Supe is.”

Butcher nodded. “You tried Mallory yet?”

Frenchie handed over a phone. “We weren’t sure who we could trust,” he explained.

Butcher took the phone, stared at it for a second. “If this really is the cunt who killed Rayner and the others – this is some serious fucking bullshit we’re getting into. You boys good with that?”

M.M was of course, the one who had the most to lose. “Look man, I’ve finally got my wife and kid back. I can’t put them in danger – alright?” Then, he added, “-But I owe Hughie this. I can’t sleep well until I know he’s still alive.”

Butcher nodded and looked over at Frenchie. He was smiling as if he wasn’t heading back to being a vigilante fighting against the biggest corporation in the world. Right at that moment, their very own Supe chick decided to make her appearance, walking to stand next to Frenchie. She signed something, the movements quick and the last movements of her striking her fist against her other hand repeatedly left little need for a translation. Frenchie smirked at whatever she signed, and said: “We’re in.”

\--

Mallory is thankfully as discreet as usual, promising to look into Hughie’s disappearance. She promises to look into his work for the past couple of months without alarming anyone. They consider looping Neuman in, but they decide to wait for a couple more days before doing that. They contact Hughie’s father, pretending to just check in and asking about Hughie’s birthday, or some shit like that to make sure the man wouldn’t worry too much (M.M is good with dealing with parents), but he apparently hasn’t heard from Hughie for a about a week – which is normal, he says, due to his new job. _“The man sounded proud,”_ M.M points out, later.

Their furious searching and speculation continues for two more days, before they finally get a lead. It comes from the most unlikely place.

Kimiko rushes in one fine day, dragging in someone by the arm, the light from outside hiding the identity of the person until they close the door behind them.

“Kinda dark in here…” the female voice mutters as they walk deeper into the hideout, Kimiko still dragging the woman along.

“Fucking ‘ell… if it isn’t our lil’ Starlight,” Butcher teases as he recognizes the blonde hair.

Annie’s brow rises, but she leaves the mocking tone to hang. M.M and Frenchie are far more welcoming, greeting her with kind words and a pat on the back. Kimiko seems to have little patience for any of it, going to Frenchie and signing something. His brows furrow at whatever she says. “Is it true?” he asks, turning his head to Annie, “you can ‘elp us find Hughie?”

All their heads snap towards Annie, and she hesitates for a second. “Yeah – well, I mean, Hughie sent his new address a week back, and then told a couple of days later that something came up and he was going to be gone for a little while. Obviously, Vought is keeping a close eye on me so I didn’t risk going to his place yet, because I just thought he was busy with work-“

“Where is it?” Butcher demanded, having no patience to deal with anything extra right now.

Only a slightly irritated look crossed her features before she gave them the address, old-school paper-style. “I deleted the info from my phone after getting the text,” she explained.

She looked at the boys and suddenly, she looked just like a very normal, worried girlfriend. “Is he okay? I mean – Kimiko didn’t really tell me much over text, but I have this feeling that something really bad is going on…”

“Wait, since when have you two been that close?” Butcher interrupted. “Did beating up that Nazi cunt in your ballet circle have anythin’ to do with that?”

Annie shot him a look, but M.M quickly got them back into subject. “Look – we haven’t heard from Hughie in four days. He might be in danger – or just off-grid for safety. Point is, we’re on it. I get that you want to help, but we need to keep Vought off our asses, so you just gotta keep doing what you’re doing,” he reassured, “we will keep you in the loop, I promise.”

She looked a little uncertain for a second, but Kimiko came to hold her hand to reassure her further, giving her a rare smile to push her point across. It did the trick as Annie smiled back at her.

“Alright. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

She was about to leave when Butcher stopped her. “Oi, did he seem strange the past week or so? Anything off about him?”

She thought about it for a second, then shook her head with a sad smile. “No… he was like usual. Just busy with work.” Butcher was about to leave it at that, but she kept going.

“But –“ she hesitated, the sadness in her eyes somehow getting deeper despite the tiny smile on her lips. She stared straight into Butcher’s eyes, something meaningful flickering there. “The past months -I’ve never seen him so happy.”

She left it at that, leaving the storage unit to return to her life back at Vought.

Butcher was left staring at the door until M.M gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

“Let’s go, Butcher.”

\--

They find his apartment building. They thank their luck that there aren’t that many apartments to go through, as Hughie of course hadn’t told the number to his apartment in his texts to Annie.

They get in the building when a neighbor of Hughie’s leaves the building and try to find ‘Campbell’ in the list of residents downstairs. However, Hughie’s name isn’t there.

“Is this the right place?” Frenchie asks, reading the list over once more.

“She said that he just moved in, right? Probably still the name of the old resident,” M.M concludes and looks at Butcher. “I’ll ask around, maybe someone remembers seeing a long-legged kid with chronic puppy-dog eyes.”

Butcher nods and they all head upstairs.

“Uh, guys-“ M.M stops suddenly, eyes fixed on one of the doors at the end of the hallway. There’s a yellow police tape crossed over it, the door shut, indicating that whatever police investigation there had been going on, it had most likely moved on into the safety of the police department.

“Fucking ‘ell…” Butcher says and walks over to the door.

“Wait – we don’t know if it’s Hughie’s place,” M.M warns.

“Would be a ‘ell of a coincidence then, aye?” Butcher barks.

“Call Mallory – she’ll get you the info in seconds. No point in putting any more attention on us than necessary.”

Butcher considers it for a moment, then reaches to his pocket and makes a quick call to the said woman. He gives her the apartment building info and asks what the police have on the place. Then, he puts the phone on speaker as the woman speaks after just a moment of research on her end.

“Homicide, three days ago – a woman called Wyona Jones. Police seem to think it’s a robbery gone wrong. But there’s something strange about it…” she says, letting the sentence hang. “I’ll see if I can find out anything. Find Hughie.” The call ends like that.

Frenchie lets out a breath. “Okay, so – it’s not ‘im, yeah? That’s good!”

M.M nods, looking relieved as well. “Yeah, that’s good. Hell of a coincidence though.”

Butcher grumbles: “I don’t believe in coincidences-“ and promptly moves to kick the door in.

“WOW! WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE!?” M.M shouts, jumping back, just like Frenchie in surprise. Kimiko, to her credit, barely reacts, just raising her eyebrow.

Butcher makes a mock bow and throws out his hand towards the apartment. “No fingerprints,” he grins. “-after you, gentlemen,” he mocks, but goes inside first anyway.

Frenchie and M.M share a look, M.M then giving up and rolling his eyes. “Come on.”

The apartment smells like an old lady and mixed with death. There’s dust collected on the shelves by the door, and the whole place is just a collection of artefacts from time long since passed – memories in forms of cheap souvenirs and other useless trinkets. There’s the usual old couch sitting in front of a tv, a knitted blanket resting on its arm. The only thing that’s amiss is the broken glass table in the center of the living room, where the crime had taken place.

“This don’ feel right…” Butcher comments as he has gone through the apartment. “Robbery – they said? Nuthin’ looks stolen. Who would go through all that trouble of breaking in, and killing an old lady without stealing anything?”

Frenchie and M.M are looking for clues as well, Kimiko standing by the door to keep watch. M.M is going through some papers he has found. “Got scared, maybe?” he says, but then frowns as he finds something. He goes through more of the papers before pulling one paper out and reading it a couple of times. “Well – at least we know where Hughie lives – she was her landlady,” M.M says and shows the piece of paper for the two of them. The paper says ‘Residential Lease Agreement’ and Frenchie instantly jumps to see it.

“That’s ‘is handwriting,” he agrees.

“Um, who are you?” a voice then suddenly asks from behind them. Kimiko has stepped to stand in between the unknown woman and the boys. The woman, middle aged, holds a cat in her arms, her dark, curly hair tied in a low bun. She looks at the men suspiciously.

Butcher steps forward, that fake smile plastered on his face as he begins his performance as an excellent manipulator. “Oh, ‘ello love. We’re ‘ere to clean this place up. Police said they were all done ‘ere,” he explained with ease none of the others could have managed, being caught in a crime scene like that.

She looked a bit confused at first, then gave a long sigh. “I see – I guess they couldn’t manage to contact her son then. I knew they wasn’t in good terms, but I figured he’d at least come to collect some of her things,” she explained. She nodded sadly. “I just took the cats in since there wasn’t no one else, but I guess I should start looking for a new home for them.”

Kimiko finds that she is no threat and relaxes, her eyes completely focused on the cat in her arms. M.M takes the chance to swoop in the conversation.

“Yes, it was terrible what happened. Were you at home when it happened?” he asked, trying to be as non-threatening as possible to avoid sounding like he was interrogating her.

“I was- I guess I must’ve had the tv on too loud ‘coz I didn’t hear nothing. I mean, I heard the scream – but I swear, I thought it was from the hallway! I didn’t think it was nothing until the cops came ‘round,” she explained. She shook her head sadly and continued, “poor Wyona. She was a nice lady, once you got to know her.”

“I’m really sorry,” M.M told, but shot Butcher a look over his shoulder.

“The boys and I are just going to take a look around to see what we’re going to need ‘ere, alright?” Butcher told the lady, prompting her to leave.

She nodded and went back to her apartment. The boys waited until they heard her door close behind her before speculating.

“That don’t sound right – she would definitely have heard the shot,” M.M said.

“Yeah,” Butcher said, walking around the man back to the hallway. He stopped at the doorway, looking around the walls. He noticed how there was a subtle change in the paint color by the window at the end of the hallway, and he ran his fingers over it, small bits of paint coming off on his finger. He also found a dent that had been mostly covered and painted over, but the texture was definitely different from the rest of the wall. “-that’s because whoever they were, they used a dampener and a professional level cleanup crew.”

“So it is not a robbery?” Frenchie asked.

“They were after Hughie,” Butcher concluded.

M.M turned back into the apartment, coming out a moment later with a set of keys. “Come on,” he said and walked towards Hughie’s apartment next. Frenchie closed the apartment door behind them, using his shirts as not to leave any prints.

They got to Hughie’s place and closed the door behind them to avoid any more awkward conversations with the neighbors.

“Man, we were going to go furniture shopping last weekend, but I didn’t think it was _this_ bad,” M.M mused as he stepped in the empty apartment.

There really was nothing there. It made their task easy, but it still felt strange to be in his place like this when it was completely empty.

They went through everything, his closet, his bathroom, his kitchen. Every wall and every frame to find anything new.

“He must’ve packed up before leaving. Barely any clothes left. It’s his place though – got that kid’s shampoo in the shower,” M.M said, laughing at the childish habit of Hughie’s.

“The lock’s been changed though – they were definitely here,” Butcher said, making the room’s atmosphere turn colder.

“Window’s open – did he bail?” M.M wondered, walking over to it. “There’s the emergency staircase so he might’ve.”

“Nothing in the kitchen,” Frenchie concluded, his mouth full of the bag chips he was holding in his hand.

“Dude-“ M.M reprimanded, making Frenchie shrug.

“What? I didn’t eat breakfast.”

Butcher shook his head, glancing in the kitchen. He walked over there, looking at the counter.

“Not you too,” M.M sighed. “We can grab something on our way back. Looks like this place is a bust. We can look through the cameras again now, right? Find out where he went?” M.M suggested.

Butcher ignored him, grabbing the glass bottle on the counter. “Can’t let a good bottle go to waste,” he explained with a smirk as M.M gave him an exasperated look.

\--

“’e was definitely running from someone,” Frenchie said and showed the boys the video he had found.

There was Hughie, running from an alley to the sidewalk, a bag slung over his shoulder as he kept looking over his shoulder. He disappeared from view for only a second before Frenchie changed the video to another one, where Hughie hails a cab.

“Can’t see the plates,” Frenchie explains. “I can follow him for a few blocks but then-“ he shows the video of a busy intersection filled with cabs like the one Hughie took.

“Fuck,” M.M sighs, putting his hands on the table and letting his head hang.

Butcher sits down on one of the ragged couches, lighting a cigarette.

They keep quiet for a moment, hitting another dead end getting to them as the evening stretches on.

“Okay, that’s it,” M.M suddenly voices, grabbing his coat and heading towards the door. “I gotta go man, my kid’s waiting for me.”

Butcher gives him a look but doesn’t pursue it.

Frenchie looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

M.M pauses at the door, nods heavily and leaves. Butcher absently wonders what the man had found to do for himself in the past few months and how tough it was for him to take time for their search for Hughie, but didn’t feel interested enough to pursue that train of thought.

He finishes his cigarette and puts it out underneath his shoe before standing and heading for the bottle he’d found at Hughie’s place that day. Thankfully, with the setup Frenchie has going on, there’s a glass for him (or a beaker, whatever) to drink his whiskey out of.

He pops open the bottle, but doesn’t expect the piece of paper falling out of the cork onto the table as he does. The thin, long strip of paper had been wound around the glass cork and found its spiral shape again on the table. Butcher looked at the paper for a second before setting down the cork and picking it up carefully.

There, on the paper were two things: a sequence of numbers and a scribble of a bird, Butcher guessed. He took the paper and marched over to Frenchie, chucking it in front of him on the keyboard.

“That look like Hughie’s handwriting to you?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

A smile quickly spread on the Frenchman’s face. “ _mon dieu_! Where did you find this?”

“The bottle – must be a message.”

Frenchie quickly looked at the numbers again. “Seventeen numbers… and… a bird?”

“Yeah, mean anything to you?”

Frenchie shook his head.

“Great,” Butcher sighed. “So he left a fucking useless piece of paper.”

Frenchie gave him an apologetic look.

They were both tired and the puzzle was nowhere near solving itself. So Butcher went and poured himself a drink and drank until he passed out on the shitty couch.

\--

“I got it!” Frenchie shouted, waking Butcher up the following morning. He groaned and sat up, his head pounding to remind himself of the previous night’s drinking.

Frenchie stood in front of him the next second, waving the piece of paper to his face.

“I was stupid – tired – last night. But it is obvious!” he explained. He waited for Butcher to meet his eye before continuing. “There are not 17 numbers – it is 16! _Petit_ Hughie writes his ones strange – it is just a line!”

“What?” Butcher asked, his hungover brain not keeping up with the man at all.

“It is dates!” he explained, excitedly. “Two dates, right here!” he said and showed Butcher. And true to his word, they sure were.

They were a couple of months apart, and both had passed some time ago.

“Okay… okay. So… what’s it mean?” Butcher asked.

“I uh, do not know yet,” Frenchie admitted. “We have to remember, I think.”

\--

M.M joined them eventually.

They figured out what they’d been doing the latter date. It was when Butcher had been on his secret daytrip while M.M and Mallory had been convincing (and failed) to convince Vogelbaum to testify. Frenchie and Kimiko were on security for Neuman. The date gave them little to no idea what Hughie meant. Hughie, himself, had been at Mallory’s before he had stormed Vought headquarters with Lamplighter (while still injured, the fool). The whole team had been all around the place. It didn’t help them much.

The first date took them a while longer. Eventually, it was M.M who remembered their little roadtrip. “Starlight was with us- we got a motel on the way-“

“-think ‘e could be there?” Butcher asked.

“Possibly. I mean, if this message was for us, I think it would be a pretty safe way to lead us to him.”

“Worth the trip, then,” Butcher decided, already grabbing his coat. “Frenchie, you stay here – figure out the rest of that message.”

\--

They got to the motel when it was starting to get dark.

“Alright, then what?” M.M asked, neither of them moving to get out of the car.

Butcher just gave him a cryptic smirk, getting out of the car and heading to the reception.

“Oh great,” M.M sighed, reluctantly following after the man.

The fake smile was plastered on Butcher’s face frighteningly easy as he leaned against the counter to greet the woman behind the desk.

“Hello there, love. Listen – we’re looking for my cousin, about this high,” Butcher indicated his tall height with a wave of his hand “-a real matchstick-looking fella.” Then, he let his light-hearted tone drop to a more serious one. “You see – his a bit… you know,” cocking his head, he continued, “unstable. Me and Troye here are just getting a bit worried, you know. Seen anyone like him ‘round?”

The woman looked at him skeptically, studying him from head to toe. She then glanced behind her to see if her co-workers were around before answering. “I might’ve seen someone like that. Curly hair?”

The smile on Butcher’s face was a little more genuine this time. “Yeah, that’s ‘im.”

She hesitated for a second longer. “Came here like… four days ago. Looked real skittish – thought he might be running from the cops or something. Not my business though.”

“He still here?” Butcher asked.

“Didn’t pay for another night so I checked up on him at check-out time. Was gone by then. Last I saw him was yesterday evening.”

“Alright – did ‘e uh- leave anything behind or anything? Any clues where ‘e could’ve gone?” Butcher tried.

“Well uh, I don’t know,” she told.

Butcher and M.M felt like they’d hit another dead-end before she continued. “But we haven’t cleaned up the room yet, if you want to check it out,” she offered.

“That… would be great,” Butcher told, genuinely surprised. She glanced over her shoulder and held out her hand.

Of course. Butcher went through his pockets and gave her all that he found there, which was a fairly generous amount. She accepted the money, stuffed it in her bra and grabbed a key from the shelf.

The room was small, had a funky smell to it (like most old motels like it), and seemed to be well overdue for a new paintjob.

“Take your time – the cleaning company won’t be around until tomorrow. Not a very busy season,” the girl told, leaving the room with the door left ajar.

There were two beds in the room and one of them wasn’t made. Like they expected, there was little to be found in the room.

“The bathroom still has his toothbrush and shaving things. Did he leave in a hurry?” M.M wondered.

Butcher, in the meantime, had found something on the bedside table. It was a pamphlet for a Vought-themed cruise, leaving from New York in a couple of days. It was advertised for families, with _‘all kinds of **Super** activities’_’. Seeing Homelander’s face in adverts was getting old – but seeing it here made Butcher’s gut twist in a foreboding way. He lifted the pamphlet up for M.M to see and gave it to the man to look over.

“’You think it means something?” M.M asked.

Butcher shrugged. “Not sure, but I ‘ave a feeling that’s all we’re going to get from this chase.” He fished out his phone and dialed Frenchie, instructing him to check the videos from the motel for the night before.

They got back to the car and decided that it was better to just drive all the way back to New York if that’s where Hughie was going too. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all they had.

About an hour into the drive, Butcher’s phone rang.

“Anything new?” Butcher greeted.

 _“Nothing much, I’m afraid,”_ Mallory admitted on the other end. Butcher waited for her to continue.

_“I talked to Victoria Neuman this morning. Says that she hasn’t heard from him either – just didn’t show up to work on Monday. She said he had seemed completely normal before he went missing.”_

Butcher had decided a long time ago that he hated the word _missing_. It sounded too definite to his ears, and soon they would start talking about burying an empty fucking casket.

“Anything else?”

 _“Seems like Hughie hadn’t forgotten about his mission – unlike some of us.”_ Ouch, but whatever. _“He has definitely been keeping an eye on the seven – any slip ups, any collateral damage – he’s been keeping tabs.”_

Butcher feels oddly proud, then. “He’s a good kid.”

 _“Yeah,”_ she agrees, more softly than her usual tone. _“But Butcher – I fear he might have gotten too close to something big. If that’s the case, and he was found by that Supe that attacked the hearing…”_

“He’s not dead,” Butcher quickly says, his tone hard. “We found where ‘e’s been hiding, but we lost the trail. We think he might be in New York. I’ll send you some info on a cruise ‘e seemed to be looking into. Might be nothing.”

 _“Alright. By the way, that robbery – definitely a cover-up. I’m not sure who’s behind it – but it was a strike of some kind. I’m assuming they were after Hughie.”_ She pauses before finishing, _“You’d better find him soon, Butcher. I’m guessing he doesn’t have much time. I don’t have the resources to help you out more than this. The task-force is still open – if you’re interested.”_

Butcher grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “Goodnight, Mallory.”


	3. Falling Of The Rain

They reach New York late that evening. M.M goes home to his wife and kid, and Butcher decides to crash on that same ragged couch as the night before.

Frenchie doesn’t have much to offer other than the confirmation that Hughie had definitely left the motel in a hurry. The security camera shows a car pull up but neither of them recognized the car. The driver didn’t get out either, Hughie just jumping in the passenger seat before they drive off.

A black van with fake tags follows him less than a minute later.

“Fucking hell, Hughie,” Butcher curses, pacing around to keep his anger in check so he can keep his head clear. “Who the fuck was ‘e with?” he asks, but Frenchie only shakes his head.

One thing was clear - they need to move – fast.

“We don’t got time for this,” he says, arms himself with his guns and brings out the pamphlet he’d found in Hughie’s motel room. He slams the paper on the table in front of Frenchie. “He was close to something big – something important,” Butcher relays from Mallory, pointing at the paper. “Whatever it was, Vought was in the middle of it. Now, I bet he’s going to be there – looking for whatever evil shit those cunts are planning and I ain’t going to be sitting here like a fucking wanker, waiting for him to get his head popped right out of his shoulders.”

Kimiko steps forward then, signing to Frenchie. Her eyes are soft, pleading, and Butcher finds it hard to believe that this is the same woman that had not (and still wouldn’t, probably) hesitate to slaughter a bunch of people with her bare hands.

Frenchie nodded at whatever she was saying. “I understand, _mon coeur,_ we will go.”

They didn’t have a lot to go on, but they had little time left. The harbor was their best bet, for now.

\---

The weather didn’t agree with them. It started pouring by the time they got to the car. It was the worst kind of setting for when you were trying to look for someone – bitch blackness, cold, wet, and the rain obscuring even the slightest chance of finding anything. Then again, it was hopefully the same situation for the pursuers as well – and if Hughie was there, he had a chance.

Frenchie had been able to pull up an itinerary for the cruise and was able to check the cargo list as well. There were surprisingly many containers going on the ship for a cruise, making Frenchie suggest that they check them out. There was no way Hughie would be on the ship itself – so it was their best bet for now.

The huge, bright lights over the container yard did little to illuminate the tight spaces between the stacked containers. The three of them were working with a couple of flashlights and whatever sounds they could make out in the rain.

Butcher motioned them to split up once they neared the first containers they had seen on the list. The gut feeling was back, and Butcher knew they were close to something big. It was just one of those things he couldn’t explain. He held onto his gun a little tighter, ready to shoot out the brains of anyone standing in his way.

Soon, he heard two sets of footsteps running from next to the container across from him. He shut off his flashlight and hid in the shadows of the container he stood next to, peeking out from behind it and readying his weapon by his ear as he stood flush to the metal.

The footsteps stopped abruptly, and he could hear the two people panting hard, but didn’t speak a word. Butcher waited for them to come closer, so the light from above could hit them. He had a suspicion, but it wasn’t until the lanky figure stumbled into view that he was certain.

He wasted no time in marching out of his hiding spot over to Hughie, who jumped back in fright when he heard the approaching footsteps. Unarmed and exhausted, his instinct was to back down to the container behind him, his eyes wild and terrified until he recognized the man.

“B-Butcher? Is that you?” he asked, clearly not believing his eyes.

Butcher held out his arms, his gun still glued to his hand. “In the flesh,” he told, and couldn’t help when a genuine smile found its way to his lips.

Hughie’s jaw quivered and he blinked rapidly. Butcher could see that the kid was at that breaking point again – but he couldn’t find it in himself to reprimand him. Not after everything – not after all the shit they’d been through. The pale skin and dark circles under his eyes spoke a million words, as well as the shaking body – cold and exhausted from all the running no doubt.

Hughie pushed his lips together, his brow furrowed as if he was angry before he rushed over to Butcher. Butcher expected a punch, but instead, Hughie’s body collided with his in an aggressive, needy hug. Taken aback, the man didn’t know how to react, especially when Hughie let out a heart-wrenching sob. Butcher let his arms fall to his side and just blinked in the darkness, letting his own brain catch up. There was a part that really fucking needed this too – the part that denied that this, the boys, were the only fucking thing left for him and the part that really fucking wanted to be around Hughie. And he’d almost fucking lost him too.

Hughie was the one who stood back. “Sorry, sorry. I just… fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head. He didn’t bother wiping his tears, the downpour hiding most of the traces well enough. Butcher looked at him again, from top to bottom, and saw a wrecked man.

“What the hell ‘ave you been doin’?” he asked, but it didn’t come out as harsh as usual.

Hughie looked like he remembered something important. “Right – yeah. Uh – this,” Hughie said, pointing at the container. Then, he called, “It’s okay, Jason.”

A man, in his thirties, Butcher guessed, stepped out from where Hughie had come from. He looked tense and cautious - his eyes hard as they were fixed on Butcher. His black hair was plastered to his olive skin, and he was just as soaked as Hughie was.

“Butcher, this is Jason Hodges – he’s a journalist. He’s been helping me with this,” he offered no further explanation, but instead looked around the yard like a frightened rabbit. “I think we’re being followed – we don’t have much time,” he explained. “Is uh – Kimiko-?”

“- _oh, mon dieu_!” Frenchie then shouted nearby, running over with Kimiko. His hands found Hughie’s cheeks in a firm grip before planting a kiss there. “ _Petit_ Hughie! Where have you been? We were worried!” he told, shaking Hughie’s shoulders. Hughie managed a small smile. Kimiko took his hands next, lifting them close to her chest and looking into his eyes.

“Hey, missed you too,” Hughie told her sincerely.

Butcher decided that he’d had enough. “Alright, enough. Can we get that thing open?” he asked, cocking his head towards the container.

Taking the hint, Kimiko went to it, and opened it up, destroying any locks just by brute force.

Butcher glanced over at Hughie, who looked just about ready to collapse with exhaustion. They didn’t have a lot of time.

Jason hadn’t said anything the whole time, his eyes fixed on the container. It seemed to Butcher that whatever relationship they had, it was purely professional.

Butcher and Frenchie went over to the dark container with their flashlights, all of them getting in to get shelter from the rain. The container was full of wooden boxes, one of which Kimiko tore open. Inside were white, plastic boxes, piled on top of each other. And inside of those…

“Fuck – are those?” Butcher asked.

Jason nodded. “Yeah, compound V – massive shipment. Hughie, this means-“ Jason couldn’t finish when the container received a heavy hit from above, making a sound that blocked out everything else. Butcher immediately pushed Hughie behind himself, Jason taking the hint as well. Butcher pulled out his weapon once more, ordering the two to “stay back.”

Frenchie stood next to him, also armed, but they knew to trust the most reliable ally in this situation. Without prompting, Kimiko ran out, and soon, bullets were flying everywhere.

They could hear Kimiko taking down enemies one by one, and she got further away. Butcher and Frenchie decided to move forward, ready to get the hell out of there while they had the chance. He glanced back at Hughie, who was leaning heavily against the boxes behind him. Butcher wondered if even adrenaline would be able to carry him through this. Jason flashed a couple of pictures of the boxes, the flash going off a couple of times.

“Come on, Hughie. We’re getting out of here,” Butcher urged. Thankfully, the lad stood and walked over to him, moving behind them in a crouch with Jason not far behind, holding on to his phone.

A flashlight suddenly came to view, almost blinding him for a moment, but Butcher just pulled the trigger before they could. The guy went down with a grunt, dead before he hit the ground.

They kept moving, Kimiko joining them once they were at a safe distance from the container. They moved quickly and quietly, Kimiko moving ahead of them to make sure the coast was clear.

They were just nearing the edge of the containers when they heard a car nearing them from where they were coming from.

“Shit – run!” Butcher ordered them, grabbing Hughie by the arm and pulling him along, knowing that he wouldn’t keep up by himself despite those long legs of him.

They all started a mad dash towards their car. It wasn’t a long run – but outrunning a car was not exactly something they could do as non-Supes.

Butcher felt a relief wash over him when he saw that they were almost there, just a little more – the car would not have time to catch up-

But then things went to shit.

The light from the container yard had just found them once more, making them clear targets despite the rain. Jason, who ran right next to Hughie, had no idea what was coming for him as one second he was running, then the next, his head just popped in a very red and gory explosion, his body going lax in the air and landing hard on the gravel.

Hughie screamed, and his legs stopped working. He fell down on his ass, the right side of his body red with patches of white from the brain matter. He stared at the body next to him, trying hard to make his body work again. Butcher was there in less than a second, using all his strength to yank Hughie up on his feet.

“KEEP RUNNING!” he shouted, pulling Hughie along.

Frenchie reached the car first, jumping in the driver’s seat and starting up the car. Kimiko sat next to him on the front seat after waiting for Butcher to reach the car. Frenchie’s gun was out the window, shooting bullet after bullet at the approaching car until both the doors in the back closed and he took off.

Butcher provided them with cover next, leaning out of the window as far as he dared at the car kept coming after them.

There was no way to see the plates in the darkness, no way to see the make of it. But he could approximate where the wheels were – and despite being in a moving car, trying to hit a moving car, in darkness with headlights blinding him, he managed to get that satisfying ‘pop’ with his fourth shot, making the car spin and stop.

Frenchie kept on driving like a madman back towards the city, where he would find them a new vehicle and maybe a new hideout. Butcher left the details to him – it was better not to ask too many questions.

He clicked on the safety on his gun set it next to him on the bench. He looked over to Hughie, who looked shell-shocked and just generally like shit.

“Hughie, are you alright?” he asked. It was hard to see anything in the darkness, but the quickly passing street lights were enough to paint the picture. Hughie nodded, his mouth open almost as wide as his eyes. “Yeah, yeah… I just,” he shook his head.

 _‘Got someone killed?’_ Butcher thought to himself. It was obvious – written all over his face.

Hughie looked at Butcher, his eyes almost pleading. For comfort? Help? Butcher had none to offer – he had no idea how. But he noticed a dark line underneath Hughie’s nose, darker than the blood on the right side of his face that had washed off a little by the rain.

“Hughie, your nose is bleeding,” Butcher said.

He looked surprised at first. “Oh.” he raised his finger to his nose to check, then – he suddenly looked horrified. “Fuck…shit!”

“Hughie?!” Butcher demanded, seeing that something was wrong.

Hughie’s scared eyes found him, and then, they rolled back in his head as he passed out. Butcher caught his boby as he slumped.

“Frenchie – get us out of ‘ere!”

\---

They weren’t stupid – going to M.M’s house wasn’t safe for his family.

But calling him and demanding him to get his ass up and meet them at a new safehouse? Absolutely necessary.

The hospital wasn’t an option for them – not with Vought after them.

Frenchie had anticipated their need and had secured a new safehouse beforehand, this one an actual apartment – although the entrance was from an alleyway, through a sliding metal door, upstairs in some old industrial building, now unused other than the office-turned apartment setting Frenchie had going on upstairs. It was fairly empty – with bare brick walls and tall, dirty windows that you couldn’t see through. A long couch sat against the wall separating the old, small kitchen, and that was enough of a cue for Butcher to drag Hughie’s limp body together with Kimiko on it.

Butcher knelt next to Hughie’s head patting his cheek twice before going to check his pulse. The blood had stopped by then, but they had freaked out when his ears had started bleeding earlier.

“What happened to him?” Frenchie asked, pacing nervously.

“I don’ fucking know,” Butcher bit, but kept his hand constantly on Hughie’s shoulder.

“That Supe – Rayner was like this too, _eh_ ! Bloody nose – then, _pop_!” he explained throwing his hands up. His eyes were wide, fearful.

“Are you saying that the Supe got to him too?” Butcher asked.

Frenchie shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know! I don’t _know_!” He pressed his fingertips to his eyelids and ran his hands down his face roughly. He then stomped off somewhere, retrieving towels and throwing one to each of them, Butcher receiving Hughie’s.

Butcher shook off his coat, throwing it off somewhere, and dried his hair quickly, leaving the towel against his neck before resuming his earlier position at Hughie’s side, keeping close attention to his heartbeat and breathing.

M.M joined them after another ten minutes, and Butcher gave him space to do whatever he could for Hughie while he left to make some calls.

\---

Mallory had been reluctant to get involved in whatever they were doing until Butcher mentioned the magic words of _“you’ll want to know what Hughie was up to.”_

 _“Is it Vought?”_ she asked.

“Of course it’s fucking Vought,” Butcher bit, glancing over his shoulder over at the couch, where M.M was flashing a light from his phone to Hughie’s eyes, checking his pupil response. “We need your help – the Supe that got Rayner, I think she got Hughie. His head is still there, but he ain’t waking up. Might not got too long,” he said the last part quietly. “You’ll need ‘im if you want the full story.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. _“I’ll see if I can get you to a secure hospital.”_

“Thanks.” Butcher was about to hang up, but the worried look M.M sent his way made him add: “and make it fast, will ya?”

Hughie looked no better or worse than a good ten minutes earlier, but then again, he might be dying, and Butcher wouldn’t really be able to tell. M.M was his best bet for now. “How is he?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I’ve only seen that Supe finish what they started – who knows what damage was done?” he threw his hands up. “I’m no doctor, Butcher. He might be fine or he might be seconds from kicking the bucket,” he shrugged, but his voice was tight with stress. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

Butcher nodded, his eyes focused on Hughie’s unconscious form. “Yea, Mallory’s on it.”

They stood there somewhat awkwardly for a moment before M.M sat on the floor, his side resting against the couch as he held onto Hughie’s wrist to check his pulse. He looked at his watch, counting. Then, he sighed, “I swear – I leave you guys for a couple of hours and you’re mixed in some more crazy Vought shit…”

It might have been a little funny if Hughie had been conscious to hear it.

\---

Mallory kept her promise, as usual.

Hughie was transported safely to a secure hospital where Vought would have no business coming near.

Butcher would have stayed with the boys at the safe house had Mallory not asked him to join her in the back of the SUV for a talk. The car, unexpectedly, took off after Butcher had settled on the leather seats.

“Where the fuck are we going, then?” he demanded.

Mallory’s eyebrow rose. “To the hospital, of course.”

“Why would I want to sit around the ‘ospital? I can’t help ‘im.”

Mallory had this annoyingly knowing look as she stared at him, her mouth curved in that slight smile that had worn far more in the past. “Because you care about him.”

Butcher almost wished he could deny that. Almost. Instead, he just gave her a mean look, that she brushed off with ease.

“Besides,” she continued, “it’s not like you can do much right now, I’m guessing? Your time should be well spent explaining everything that’s been going on.”

There was no arguing that logic.

\---

Once Mallory was all caught up with whatever Butcher had been up to, they had moved to a small hospital waiting room where they could talk in private.

“And that’s all I’ve got,” Butcher finished his explanation, having slouched in his chair by this point. Mallory was sat across from him, looking pensive, but not any worse to wear despite it having been hours since they’d entered the hospital. It was the middle of the night, 3:12 am, Butcher checked from the clock on the wall, and he was finally starting to feel the day’s events weighing on him.

“Alright. I hope Hughie can connect the dots better once he wakes up, but for now, I’ll see what I can do. I sent a team to the docks earlier, but it seems that whatever cargo you saw – it was gone by then. Without those pictures, we don’t have any evidence.”

Butcher nodded heavily. “And that fella – Jason uh- Hob- no- Hodges?”

“We found some information on him – but we’re still trying to connect all of it. There’s a team going to his address, and we hope to find something there. Hopefully, we’re not too late this time.” She looked a little sad when she spoke again. “His body was gone when we got to the harbor. Phone as well.”

Butcher breathed in through his nose and sat back in his chair.

“Butcher – if this is Vought – they’ve really stepped up their game. Hughie might be the only one who has the key to all of this.”

Butcher nodded. “Those cunts will want him dead, alright.”

“He’s safe here for now. I will make sure he gets all the protection he needs – the full package.”

Butcher’s eye twitched at that. He cocked his head to his side, a dangerous sort of grin rising to his face. “You want to hide ‘im somewhere nice and cozy, don’t ya now? I hear South America is lovely this time of government overstepping its fucking business.”

Finally, the stress from the long day behind her seems to catch up to Mallory as well as she stands up, her lips now a thin line. For a woman, she could exude a strong aura of command if she wanted, but it was nothing on Butcher after all the years they’d known each other. “You can’t protect him, Butcher.”

Butcher stood as well, walking over to her until their faces were only inches apart. “You just try me,” he threatened, never breaking eye contact with her.

Battle of wills – some could call it. Both of them assessing how serious the other was. As always, it was the depts of Butcher’s rage that knew no limits.

Mallory broke eye contact first, sighing. She seemed to shrink a couple of inches doing that. “We’re no good to anyone if we’re at each other’s throats.” She grabbed her phone from her table and typed a message.

Butcher waited for her to explain that she had made sure they had a safe house ready nearby once Hughie was back on his feet.

He had almost dared to ask her if that would be true – if Hughie was actually going to recover – but he thankfully had no chance before he saw a doctor marching over to the waiting room with news.

The man looked a little tired, but not overly so. Hours had passed but there had been no notice of them taking Hughie to surgery, nor was there any information on anything else that had been going on. Butcher hoped that the look on the man’s face was a good neutral, or maybe he was just trying to break it to them softly-

“Firstly, he’s stable.”

The weight on his shoulders suddenly fell off. Of course, that’s what it’d been.

The doctor let himself smile a little at seeing their relieved faces. “We detected some very minor bleeding, but everything is under control. There’s no need for surgery. It was a very minor stroke. Now, although the scans showed nothing abnormal, there might be some effects from the stroke. We will only be able to tell the full story once he wakes up, I’m afraid.”

Butcher blinks and shifts, feeling tense once more at those words. “But – he’ll be alright, won’t ‘e?”

The doctor seems to go to some rational part of his brain next as he explains that “confusion, nausea, issues with memory or physical limitations might be present once he’s conscious. We can get excellent results with rehabilitation and physical therapy for any of those effects. There’s a good chance that we can avoid all of that, though, so I suggest that we all just wait for now and see what the situation is again once he’s awake. You can go see him in just a minute.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Mallory says, finishing the conversation for Butcher as the man looks like he might keel over himself. Once the doctor nods and leaves the two of them to digest the news in peace, Mallory puts a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“How about you get some rest? I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Butcher is about to decline, but the rational, still somewhat awake, part of his brain tells him to sod it and just have a lie-down.

Mallory gets him a quiet room with an empty hospital bed, the sheets smelling too clean and the air having that sterile smell. It feels far from anything safe and comfortable, but Butcher is out like a light.

\---

Hughie sleeps like a Disney-princess for a couple of days.

The doctor assures that it was normal and that they should just be patient for a little while longer. For Butcher, that meant that he had to listen to that annoying beeping sound for too many hours of too many days and having to get a room from a motel nearby. For the height of his troubles, Mallory had insisted that he get a change of clothes and a bottle of shampoo to freshen up – saying that the nurses wouldn’t be able to do their job if they fainted from the smell once they got in Hughie’s room. Target was the first store he’d marched into, grabbed whatever was in his size, and cursed the whole way in and out for all the fucking trouble.

It was a fucking nightmare overall.

There were no more clues to follow either, and Butcher had just been about at the end of his patience with the whole fucking world, just about ready to just figure out the launch codes and drop a fucking nuclear bomb on the country to just end it all when Hughie had finally woken up.

Confused? Yes. But there were no problems with his speech, no problems with wiggling his toes or fingers, no problems with his memory (other than not remembering every detail from the evening his brain was almost blasted into bits), and nothing that would indicate that he wouldn’t make a full recovery.

The last of the heavy weight on Butcher’s shoulders rolled away at the doctor’s assurance.

“Were you worried?” Hughie asked once the last nurse had cleared out, leaving him with some Jello that he had just scooped up from the small cup.

Instead of giving an honest answer, Butcher went with: “how about next time you fucking call us instead of playing Hansel and Gretel with the cryptic notes?”

Hughie put the Jello down and stared at his hands. “I um…” he started, his voice very quiet. “- I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

And if that didn’t just break your fucking heart-

“What?”

Hughie glances up, looking startled, fumbling with the Jello cup when he goes to place it on the table. “I mean – I just thought that you were… you know. _Busy_ ,” he shrugs.

Butcher wasn’t sure if he wanted to smack Hughie or what. He bit back some words, taking a couple of breaths. “That’s different. _This_ ain’t your job to do alone.”

“I was doing it – alone,” Hughie says then, that very Hughie-like strength behind his words when he finds defiance in the strangest of times. “I was doing just fine without you guys, too. For time first time in a long time I…” Hughie trails off, pushing his lips together. “I was doing really good,” he admits. “And then, shit just kept happening. Mrs. Jones was killed because of me and I just – I didn’t want you guys to be in it again. I mean, I _did_ , because it was fucking scary as hell, but M.M. has a kid and a wife and you were…” Hughie glances at Butcher and lets the sentence hang.

Butcher nods, and very quietly he makes his way over to Hughie’s bed and sits down by his legs.

Hughie stares at the man with wide eyes, not sure what to expect.

Butcher just sits and stares at the window. He then takes a deep breath, shifting a little, and looks at Hughie. “Well, I’m ‘ere now, aye?”

There’s that look again. The one Hughie has seen many times before. Just the kind of silent understanding. It’s the look that conveys those thoughts Butcher might never put into words, but Hughie can sort of get it now. A part of him wishes that he would have found a way to get through all his troubles now by himself, but having Butcher be there, he realizes that he hasn’t felt so safe in _ages_. It had started long before all the shit went down with Victoria, he now realized, after they had never got a proper chance to say goodbye after the whole thing with Stormfront and Becca… He had been so hopelessly _alone_ for the first time – consumed with the thrill of it that he had almost been able to forget that he still had nightmares and still wished that there was anywhere he could run to safety during bad evenings he spent alone.

Now, they were back here again. With neither of them having really anything but each other in the fucked-up world. But it felt like Butcher got it too, with the way he was looking at Hughie.

Butcher would never suggest it himself so Hughie offers him: “will you help me?”

Butcher’s mouth twitches, and there’s that dangerous grin again. “Just tell me where to shoot – it’ll be _diabolical_ ,” he promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to rewrite this last chapter with a different ending so I might continue this story. I just got so into other stuff that I just lost interest and decided to go with this after all. 
> 
> I might come back someday and rewrite this with a second part featuring more of the Seven, more craziness, and questions to be answered. For now, this is it!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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